


If Only In My Dreams

by wintermute



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Presents, Feelstide 2013, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Slash, Road Trips, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermute/pseuds/wintermute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working for SHIELD, being stuck on the road far from home on Christmas isn’t anything new. Phil Coulson is used to this, the loneliness that comes with the important job of protecting the world. What he didn't count on was for one Clint Barton, archer extraordinaire and newly minted SHIELD agent, to come crashing into his life.</p><p>An aborted op, a snow storm, a motel room and a conversation. They may be stuck on the road, but they are closer to home than they think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Phil

**Author's Note:**

> For Feelstide 2013. Thanks to [featheredschist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/featheredschist/works) and [Jo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson) for their speedy beta! Love you guys <3
> 
> Fic name is from Bing Crosby's _I'll Be Home For Christmas_
> 
> Prompt: Stuck on the road and far from home on Christmas. And yet the company's not so bad.

“I don’t think he’s gonna show,” Barton muttered into his comm, followed by a loud sniff. Phil winced at how wet it sounded. “And I’m going to lose my sight lines if it snows any harder.”

They were in the middle of nowhere in Idaho, just outside of Boise. Barton was up a tree with his bow, waiting for his mark to show. He’d been at his perch for six hours, which was already two hours past his mark’s ETA. It’d been snowing all day and the wind had been picking up as well. The forecast had called for heavy snowfall for the next few days, but Phil was not nearly as optimistic as the weatherman.

This was the part that Phil disliked when running an op, asking Barton to stay out there for longer than he should in less than ideal conditions. Any other agent would’ve already started to complain, but not Barton. Barton would stay up there all day if need be, even if it was to the detriment of his own personal well-being. It didn’t take long after Barton was assigned to Phil to notice this troubling trend, and Phil still hadn’t managed to convince Barton to take better care of himself.

The snow was really coming down hard now, much worse than an hour ago since the wind had picked up. At this rate, even with Clint’s near-superhuman eyesight he wouldn’t be able to make the shot.

Phil hummed over comm. “You’re probably right.” He sighed. “Okay, pack it up. I’m calling it. Come on back.”

“Acknowledged,” Barton said, and Phil could hear the hint of a groan as his sniper relaxed his stance. “ETA ten minutes. Gonna have hot chocolate waiting for me, Boss?”

“Just get your ass down here.” Phil’s reply was tinged with a trace of laughter that he couldn’t hold back. He could just imagine the mischievous grin on Barton’s face. “Coulson out.”

Phil had been Barton’s handler for a few years now, after Fury had “recruited” him from a jail cell, wrongfully accused of a crime he didn’t commit, and dumped him unceremoniously into Phil’s hands. Phil would admit that when it came to Barton, he was perhaps a little biased, but Barton had honestly been one of the best junior agents Phil’d ever seen, full of potential. He’d been raw, full of distrust and bad habits that Phil had taken time to break him out of with nothing but persistence and patience. Barton was like a diamond in the rough, and it took some very careful chipping and buffing to expose his brilliance and made him really shine. And underneath all the masks and rough edges, Phil uncovered a brilliant, sharp, tactical mind which gave him insights in the field that none of the analysts had even thought of.

It didn’t take long for Barton to pack his things up, slide down the zip line and made his way back to the little hunting cabin they’d “borrowed” after erasing the traces of anyone ever being near their mark’s winter cabin. Phil used that time to contact HQ for an update as he packed up his own gear.

“You’re two minutes late,” Phil said without looking up when the door opened.

“Yeah, yeah.” Barton rolled his eyes and waved Phil off with a cheeky salute. Phil had to bite the inside of his mouth so as to not smile.

“I called into HQ. They just got word that our target decided to leave town for the holidays and wouldn’t be back for another three weeks. We’re standing down and flying back to base as soon as the weather clears,” he updated, finally looking up at Barton. His sniper was red-cheeked from the cold, his jacket and beanie covered with snow that was slowly melting and dripping down to the floor. There was still a hint of a sniffle when he breathed. Phil winced at the sound.

“And when would that be? I don’t think this weather’s going to clear up any time soon.” Barton looked out the window and gave Phil a skeptical arch of an eyebrow. “Looks like it’s going to turn into a blizzard overnight.”

“Yeah…” Phil sighed. “Come on, let’s clean this place up. I know a place in town that we can crash for a few nights if the weather doesn’t clear.”

Barton nodded, helping with returning the rest of the things in the cabin to their original positions.

They hiked the few miles down the hill in the dwindling light to where Phil stashed the SUV, dug the car out of the snow, then drove the few hours back into town. The radio didn’t work that far out so they drove in near silence until it crackled back to life, the jingles of Christmas carols suddenly filling the small space. It was then that Phil remembered that it was Christmas Eve.

It seemed that Barton had the same thoughts, because he turned to Phil, who had both hands on the wheel, focusing on not slipping on the snow covered trail as they drove, and said, “I’m sorry you’re stuck here with me. You must’ve had plans to spend the holidays with family, huh?”

Phil shook his head and gave Clint a soft smile. “Nah. My folks passed many years ago when I was still in the Army. It’s just me and my sister now, and she’s with her husband in England.” Phil was focused on the road, but his mind drifted to the thoughts of family Christmases in the past, before he’d became estranged with his father because of his decision to join the Army. It was one of the regrets that he’d probably never get over.

The life of a SHIELD field agent was a lonely one. Most of them couldn’t maintain a stable relationship with civilians because there was only so much lying one could do before things began falling apart. Phil had made peace with that and devoted his life to his work. But sometimes, in times like these, Phil still wished that he could have someone to spend his life with, wished that it wasn’t such an unattainable pipe dream.

It must’ve shown on his face because there was a quiet “I’m sorry…” from the passenger seat. Phil shrugged.

“It’s fine. It’s in the past.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t really have any family left so…”

Barton sounded so distant, Phil couldn’t help looking over to him. He was staring down at his hands, but he was miles away. Phil was suddenly reminded of Barton’s childhood, of all of the things in his files that paved a path of heartaches and broken promises. The thought clenched around his heart like a vice, squeezing it until he could barely breathe. He couldn’t help reaching up to rub at the throbbing in his chest, just so he could suck in a shuddering breath.

“Barton…”

Phil reached his hand over, hesitantly, to touch his shoulder. Barton jerked, looking up at Phil, a torrent of emotions flickering over his beautiful blue-green eyes, before he shut it all down with a deep breath, and smiled.

“You can call me Clint, you know.” Barton said quietly. “When we’re not on mission.”

Clint. “I’d like that.” Phil said, paused, then added, a little unsure, “You can call me Phil, too. Off mission. Just so we’re clear.”

At his words, Barton—no, Clint now—his smile grew wider, overtaking his face. It was almost blinding, the way Clint’s face lit up when he smiled, the way his eyes crinkled at the edges. Phil found himself in awe of the man sitting next to him, who began humming softly to the voice of Bing Crosby.

Years later, Phil would pin point that to be the moment he fell irrevocably in love with one Clinton Francis Barton. Years later, these memories would be the ones he held onto when he was captured or as he sat waiting in medical waiting for Clint to wake up. Years later, he would think back to this moment and all of the moments that came after as he slid one of a pair of matching rings onto Clint’s finger.

 

Right now, though, all Phil could do was let himself bask in the presence of Clint as they drove on down the wooded path.


	2. Clint

“A place in town they could crash” turned out to be a small motel room that Coulson had booked on their way into the woods just in case they needed one. It had two twin beds, a coffee machine, an ancient looking TV and a bar fridge, like pretty much every motel room out there. Phil checked them in, and told Clint to take a hot shower while he went to grab some food at the diner across the street.

Clint had grumbled then, protesting that he wasn’t a child, but he couldn’t deny that a shower (crappy water pressure, but at least it was hot) felt incredible after the long hours he’d spent up in the tree waiting. Even with the winter field gear he’d been wearing, he’d been chilled to the bone, and the heater in the car could only do so much to help his body thaw out.

When he came out of the shower dressed in SHIELD-issued sweats, Coulson was already back with a bag of take out containers and a couple of cups in a drink tray. His handler cracked a small smile and handed Clint one of the cups. Clint frowned down at the take out cup for a brief second before the smell of rich chocolate wafted into his nose. He quickly removed the lid to discover that there were little white, fluffy pieces of marshmallow floating on top.

For a brief moment, Clint’s brain had stuttered. He’d only been joking about the hot chocolate, but Coulson—right, Phil—had gotten him one nonetheless. With marshmallows. Clint had never told anyone how he loved the mini marshmallows in his hot chocolate, but Phil had known anyway. Clint grinned into the cup, taking a big gulp and not caring that the hot liquid might burn a layer off the inside of his mouth.

“Mmm, oh my God! This is so good,” Clint moaned as he settled on the bed further from the door, folding his legs up and taking another smaller sip. “You’re the best, boss.”

When Phil didn’t reply, Clint looked up to find Phil staring at him from the other bed, his face a little flushed while he tried to hid a shy little smile. Clint arched an eyebrow, but Phil just shook his head slightly, the smile never fading, and reached back to grab the bag of takeout.

It was moments like these that had Clint wishing there was something more between them. Fury might have been the one to give Clint a second chance, but it was Phil who made Clint feel like he could be something more than the screw-up he’d always believed he was. It was Phil who made him feel like he belonged, who made it bearable when life got difficult.

The man might be a hard-ass even on a good day, but he listened to Clint when he had something important to say. He respected Clint’s abilities to do what he needed to get the job done, and quipped back when Clint needed to vent. If Clint’d had his way, he’d want Phil around on a more… intimate basis.

It was all fantasy, of course. Clint was just one of many people under Agent Phil Coulson’s command; he was nothing special. Clint was sure that Phil treated all of his people the same way, but it didn’t stop him from falling for his handler.

“The last time I’d had a proper family Christmas, I was eight,” Clint said, after wiping his mouth with napkins that were slightly greasy from being in the same bag as their food. Phil was fiddling with the coffee maker in the room, attempting to make whatever the motels were trying to pass off as coffee. “I don’t really remember much of it. The circus folks celebrated when they could, but it never felt right.”

Clint wasn’t sure why he brought it up. He hadn’t thought about his life before SHIELD in a very long time. He’d completed those mandatory psych sessions, dumped it on his shrink, and then buried those memories deep down where they would never see the light of day. Not all of the memories were bad, but he would rather not think about them at all lest the bad ones take a foothold.

Phil said nothing, except turning his head to look at him with soft eyes, as if waiting for him to continue, like he knew exactly what was going on in Clint’s head. Clint wouldn’t put it past him, either.

“What would you be doing if you weren’t stuck here?” Clint asked when Phil finally got the coffee brewing.

Phil shrugged, settling down on Clint’s bed, sitting close enough that their shoulders touched. “Not sure. Probably sitting around with Chinese take-out and a movie,” Phil answered. “I haven’t really celebrated Christmas in a long time either.”

“I thought you’d be going to your sister’s.”

“Nah. She usually spends it with my brother-in-law’s folks,” Phil said. “I try to visit whenever I can, but it’s difficult to plan for holidays when any op might go wrong at a moment’s notice.”

“I suppose.”

“You could always join me,” Phil said, nudging Clint’s shoulder with his own.

Clint smiled, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s no trouble, really. I could use the company.”

“Take-out and movies, huh?”

“If you’re expecting a turkey, you’re going to be disappointed. I’m useless in the kitchen,” Phil grinned, and Clint couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up. “Come on. We’ll make it a new tradition.”

“Sure. Why not.”

Early next morning when Clint woke up, there was a little bag of Haribo Gold-bears, his favorite candy, sitting on the nightstand next to him, a square of card stock taped to the center.

“Merry Christmas,” the card said.

It was obvious who’d left the bag of candy there, even if Clint hadn’t recognize the handwriting. Clint took the note off the bag, his fingers running over its edges subconsciously as he looked over to where Phil was still sleeping on his side and snoring lightly. His handler didn’t look too different asleep and would probably wake up guns blazing at the slightest provocation, but all Clint could see was the way the light of dawn filtered through the blinds, brushing his sleeping form with a layer of gold. Clint smiled to himself as he committed to memory the way his sleep rumpled handler looked in the morning light.

It felt like the start of something—a paradigm shift, maybe. He felt like he’d stepped over some invisible line that marked the edge of something new, something unknown and exciting.

It felt like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me here: http://thisiswintermute.tumblr.com/


End file.
